Coming Undone
by marana1
Summary: AU with magic. Victorian Era. TMR X HG. After two attacks on her life, Harry and Ron disregard Hermione's pleas claiming she can fend for herself and force her to take a bodyguard – someone to keep her safe and look after her when they cannot. Little do they know that the one most highly recommended for the job, may also be the most deadly... (longer/more detailed summary inside!)
1. Chapter 1

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**_~ Coming Undone ~_**

**_by_**

**_marana1_**

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**Time Period: **The Victorian era (mid-1800s to late 1800s)

**Extended Summary: **AU. It's the mid 1800s and Hermione, Ron, Harry, and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix are fighting against their opposing forces: Grindelwald's followers, which are comprised mainly of Purebloods and Pureblood supremacists. After two attacks on her life, Ron (her soon-to-be husband) and Harry have finally convinced Hermione that she is in no position to claim she can take care of herself alone. Enter Tom Riddle: the most highly recommended, intelligent, and caring man to watch over and protect her during the day – to essentially be her bodyguard. Little does Hermione know, Tom may not be as perfect as she initially believes...

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**Chapter 1**

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Quick Note: I do not own anything from the wonderful world of Harry Potter by JK Rowling.

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Obeying someone else – especially when their orders went against what she, personally, wanted and thought was right – had always been hard for Hermione to do.

Today was no exception.

It had been exactly two days since she was almost captured by the dark, Pureblood supremacist forces.

It had been exactly one day and twenty two hours since Harry and Ron approached her, wide-eyed and fearful, trying to get her to agree to their idea – to hire a bodyguard to protect her.

It had been exactly one day, twenty one hours and fifty nine minutes since she disagreed with their idea and claimed it was nothing she couldn't handle. Since that moment, she was positive she'd said that statement about eight times to numerous people.

Just because she was a woman did _not_ mean she couldn't take care of herself, yet, everyone in the Order of the Phoenix made it glaringly obvious that they thought the complete opposite. They thought she was being as stubborn as a mule. Hermione, on the other hand, simply believed she was proving an important point in this patriarchal society – women were _not_ inferior, and _yes_, they could take care of themselves.

She sat resolutely, her arms crossed over her chest in a childish manner, while her fiery, brown eyes glared at the two men in front of her.

"I've told you both before, _this is nothing I can't handle_," she snapped.

_Nine times, now, _Hermione thought sourly.

Harry slumped his shoulders and stared at her in a way that clearly conveyed how sick of this discussion he was, while Ron gulped. Her fiancée had always been the smart one. Ron was the one out of the two that was actually _afraid_ of inciting her wrath.

"This isn't up for discussion, Hermione," Harry barked. "He's here! He's waiting for you in the ballroom! You can't honestly expect us to just tell him to leave!"

"Yes, Harry!" she cried, her gown rustling softly as she stood from the stupid chair they'd insisted she'd sit in before trying to convince her that she did, in fact, need a bodyguard. "I do expect you to do that! I'm not bloody incapable of taking care of myself!"

"Hermione, this man needs a job. He's come completely qualified from so many people–"

"I don't care, Ron!" she yelled, turning her furious brown gaze to his. "I can't _believe_ you two are so… so… misogynistic!"

"Harry," she heard Ron whisper, infuriating her even more, "what does–"

"It _means_," she exclaimed, "that you two think I'm inferior and incapable of handling myself because I'm a woman – it's an old, discriminatory way of thinking!"

The raven-haired man let out a long, suffering sigh.

"Here we go again," he muttered.

Hermione let out a little noise of frustration before stomping her foot, her stupid heels clanging dangerously on the flooring.

"We just want to keep you _safe_, Hermione," sighed Harry, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes wearily. "There've been two attacks on your life so far. After the first one, you insisted you'd be able to take care of yourself, and we relented. _This_, however, is the second attack and it's only been a month. You were nearly _captured_. Do you even know what that means or how serious this is?"

"I do," she replied, her expression softening at the desperate looks on her closest friend and her fiancé's faces, "But I'm perfectly capable–"

"Humor us, then," interrupted Harry.

The raven-haired man walked over to her and held her hand.

"We're not being misogynistic. We just can't bear to lose you, 'Mione. We're in the middle of war and you're valuable to the dark side – to Grindelwald. We need to keep you safe. We need to protect you. _Allow us _to protect you."

"We love you," added Ron, who was now at her other side and holding her other hand gently. "Besides, I can't very well lose you. Who else will I marry if I don't have my fiancée in one piece?"

A small smile wound its way onto her face. Hermione's brown eyes flickered between the two closest people in her life before she sighed reluctantly. After all, it wasn't every day Ron declared his love for her. Actually, he rarely ever did. She quickly shoved that thought to the back of her mind.

_Not now. _

"_Fine_," she relented, "I'll accept this."

The two men let out relieved sighs.

"Thank Merlin," mumbled Harry, "Let's go. He's been waiting to meet you for almost a half hour now."

"A little waiting never hurt anyone," she mumbled under her breath before being whisked away.

Harry and Ron just snorted in response.

* * *

It was darker than normal in the ballroom. The windows let in barely any light because of the dark, stormy day, and candles had been lit throughout the large space to counteract the gloom.

The brunette walked into the room, Harry and Ron on either side. Looking around, she caught sight of three men standing in the middle of the large, dimly lit space, talking faintly. One she recognized as Dumbledore, who had also supported Harry's idea to find her a bodyguard, but the other two she never recalled meeting. One of the two looked to be the same age as Dumbledore; they looked very similar, save the fact that the unknown man had a much shorter beard and seemed more feeble and wizened. The other she could barely make out. He was tall – taller than his counterpart – was much younger and had wavy, dark hair and pale skin. His face was masked in shadow, and he stood straight and tall, his hands clasped behind his back.

As they made their way over, the chatter paused and the men turned to watch them. Hermione straightened and tried desperately to look like she wanted to be there.

"Miss Granger," smiled Dumbledore, "How lovely of you to join us."

"Not of my own volition, I can assure you," she replied tightly.

She heard Ron sigh and Harry clear his throat as an awkward pause descended upon the six people.

"It's wonderful to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger," said the older man standing next to Dumbledore, breaking the silence.

"The same to you, as well, Mister…?"

"Ah, of course," interjected Dumbledore, "Miss Granger, this is Headmaster Armando Dippet of Hogwarts." He gestured to the man next to him. "An old friend of mine. I had recently told him of our… predicament and he graciously promised to help find someone to alleviate our situation. One of his best students–"

"My _best_ student, actually, Dumbledore," he interrupted.

"My apologies," the wizard replied, smiling, "His _best_ student offered to help."

Hermione nodded and smiled faintly before extending her hand, which the old man kissed quickly before releasing.

"Miss Granger," began Armando, "I'd like you to meet one of the brightest young men I've ever had the good fortune of meeting and instructing… this is Mister Tom Riddle."

Hermione's eyes slid from Dippet to the young man shrouded in shadow next to him.

"Hello, Miss Granger," said the man softly, his voice as smooth as silk. "It's lovely to finally make your acquaintance."

She watched as he took a step into the light, the candles illuminating his perfect skin, dark eyes, and aristocratic features. Trying hard not to gawk at his beauty, she swallowed hard and slowly offered her hand. Their eyes clashed.

"Same to you as well, Mister Riddle," she responded as his lips brushed over the skin on the back of her hand.

She didn't fail to notice his dark eyes were on her the entire time.

* * *

Tom watched on quietly as the people around him engaged each other in conversation, his eyes flickering between the two men on either side of Miss Granger, Headmaster Dippet, and Miss Granger herself.

He quickly came to the conclusion that this was a degrading job the moment his headmaster had suggested it, yet, he needed it. It would ferment his future plans and it was essential that he have the trust of the members of the Order of the Phoenix.

From what he'd heard about Miss Granger, she was more of an activist than anything else.

_A Mudblood as well. _

He refrained from sneering at the thought. There was nothing noteworthy at all about her. She was pretty, he supposed, but then again, he'd never cared too much about looks like many of his Knights. Headmaster Dippet said she was very outspoken about her views regarding Purebloods and Mudbloods and the integration of the two classes. On top of this, her impending marriage to the youngest male Weasley, Mister Ronald Bilius, was a topic of disgrace. A Mudblood and a Pureblood marrying? It was unheard of. That, coupled with the fact that she was a woman, made her a target for the dark forces. War between the two classes had been going on for centuries now, but never this violent. Talks of a new power, a man by the name of Grindelwald, had been surfacing for the past year now – that he was leading his own army to purge the world of Mudbloods forever. Tom could attest to this because it was true. Grindelwald _was_ gaining power, and his main goal _was_ to eradicate Mudbloods from Wizarding society.

Not that Tom would mind that, really. It's just that Grindelwald's idea clashed with his own, and he couldn't have that, now could he?

His eyes flickered from Mister Weasley to Miss Granger once again. What was so compelling about her? Why did everyone need her alive? She was nothing but a woman. A meddlesome, troublesome, gossiping, uneducated, idiotic _woman_. All of them were the same: good-for-nothings. He could see it in her eyes; she was already infatuated with him like the rest.

_How revolting._

When he finally did achieve power, she'd be the first one he'd kill. It wouldn't even be a loss – she was a Mudblood, after all.

_Pity, _he thought, without a hint of remorse. _Her bodyguard, the one that everyone has so __**heavily**__ recommended to protect her and keep her safe, will be the one to kill her. _

The young Dark Lord's eyes slid from their study of Miss Granger to the Head of the Order of the Phoenix: Albus Dumbledore. The dark amusement at the thought of her death vanished quickly. The old man was watching him curiously, his blue eyes penetrating. Immediately, he felt uncomfortable and vulnerable. Unlike the other men and women he'd met, this old man didn't immediately take a liking to him. In fact, if Tom was to be completely honest, he seemed to almost _dislike_ him, or be wary of him.

That would not do. Not at all.

_Perhaps I'll kill him as well when all is said and done._

With that comforting thought, Tom was able to get through the rest of the pleasantries and lunch.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

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Quick Note: I do not own anything from the wonderful world of Harry Potter by JK Rowling.

* * *

Hermione groaned before inhaling and exhaling sharply. Sometimes the brunette wondered if wearing beautiful gowns was really worth all the pain.

"I'm sorry, Hermione!" whispered Ginny Potter, "Just a little bit more…"

The brunette gasped slightly as the youngest Weasley pulled the last strings on the corset before taking in another long breath and standing.

"Thanks, Gin," she muttered, turning around and sending the redhead a grateful look.

"Do mine?"

As Hermione tied the strings on her future step-sister's corset as carefully as possible, she allowed her mind to wander to the Ministry ball tonight. Since Ron and Harry were both Aurors, she and Ginny had to attend. Although Hermione did enjoy dressing up from time to time, seeing as she _was_ a girl and did like to really look the part once in awhile, she found it tedious. Getting prepared to go out took _so_ much time and involved _so_ much work. Not to mention how painful it was. From tying the corset to putting on the many different layers of fabric, she'd grown to hate the entire ordeal. It was fun in the beginning – she had initially been a servant in the Weasley household, so she hadn't been accustomed to getting ready to go to anything, especially something as monumental as a Ministry ball – but after she and Ron fell in love and announced their engagement just a year ago, she thought of the entire thing as more of a torture session, rather than a time to dress up and look her best.

"All done, Ginny," she said softly, before turning to put on the rest of her garments.

"Thanks, Hermione," she breathed heavily for a moment, adjusting to the tightness of the corset, before copying the brunette's movements.

Nodding absentmindedly, Hermione allowed her thoughts to wander once more. Ever since she could remember, she'd been a servant in the Weasley household. Because of the separation of the classes, Muggleborns were only able to marry other Muggleborns. The same went for Purebloods. Violence and radicalism had succeeded in keeping the two separated, however, infidelity was rampant between the two. Although the bastard children were considered to be Halfbloods, they were still put in the same category as the Mudbloods. It was too scandalous for them to be acknowledged at all by Purebloods – they were filth after all.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she smoothed out her skirt and grabbed the top of her gown, quickly slipping the fabric over her shoulders. In her opinion, most _Purebloods_ were complete and utter filth. _They_ were the ones that enforced the classes, not the Mudbloods or Halfbloods. War to integrate the classes had been ongoing for centuries, but nothing had really been accomplished, at least, not until now. Grindelwald – the darkest and most fearsome supporter of Pureblood bigotry – was at large and gathering followers. Many said it was because of his charm, charisma, and boyish looks that he was able to form such a large following of fanatical supporters. Because of his cult following, the Order of the Phoenix had been formed by Dumbledore to counteract and protect anyone with even one ounce of impure blood and to eradicate the Pureblood and Mudblood prejudice once and for all. Enough was enough – too much blood had been shed already and Purebloods' views were ancient, horrible, and just plain _wrong_. Although they were part of that elite class, the Weasleys had never been harsh or unkind to her. In fact, they had been completely different. Hermione was eternally grateful she had been serving them and not another Pureblood family like the Malfoys or Lestranges.

_Merlin knows how their poor servants are treated._

The brunette shuddered as she adjusted her sleeves. This was unjust – this was horrible. She couldn't wait until this war was finally over. It would be a blessing. She was positive they would win – they had Dumbledore on their side, after all, and he was such an intelligent and powerful wizard… so powerful even _Grindelwald_ feared him. With Dumbledore on their side, how could they not?

Two knocks on the door sounded and Hermione's eyes rapidly flitted over her gown before flickering to Ginny's to ensure they were both dressed enough to open it. Moving to the door, she quickly opened it to find her new bodyguard standing on the other side.

His dark eyes – she still had no idea which color they truly were – flitted over her outfit lazily before locking onto hers. Something flickered within them. It took a moment for her to suddenly realize it was _boredom_. Either boredom or disinterest. Perhaps both. It made her blood boil.

_Such arrogance._

Hermione had always believed she could grasp a firm handle on the personalities of those around her after just a few hours. People were easy to read, especially those she saw and interacted with on a daily basis. Tom Riddle had been quite easy in the beginning – he was humble, kind, and respectful. She had set that down in stone – the fact that he was actually quite a genuinely good person and that they – meaning the Order of the Phoenix – were lucky to have such a gifted wizard on their side. Halfway through lunch, she found her belief shattering. She'd been glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. It had happened so quickly, she still wasn't too sure if it had actually occurred. Ron had cracked a joke and she'd seen it – a flash of irritation and strong dislike in Tom's eyes – before his lips curved upward in a friendly smile. After that moment, she'd been a bit shocked. Paying more attention to him – on the sly, of course – she'd picked up things about him that seemed to negate every single aspect of his personality that she'd previously believed described him. She found him to be entirely _too_ intelligent, snobbish, and misogynistic. The extreme contrast was almost dizzying. She caught different flashes of his personality from time to time, but she found herself unsure of the nature of his true personality. Was his kindness all an act? Every emotion of his seemed so genuine. How could one man be all of those contrasting traits at once? It made no sense. It unnerved her – that and his eyes. They reminded her somewhat of Dumbledore's, for they were quite… penetrating. The only difference between Riddle and Dumbledore was that she found warmth in one and something else in the other. Staring into Tom Riddle's eyes made her feel unpleasant… almost like she was naked. She hated it.

"Miss Granger," he bowed before a curiously pleasant smile made its way onto his face. After seeing that barely noticeable cue that he actually did _not_ want to be here, she found herself not believing his geniality. "Mister Weasley told me to call for you and Miss Potter."

"Mister Riddle."

She smiled back, albeit forcefully, while trying, once again, not to stare. Although she had acknowledged his beauty, it still took her off guard. He was so handsome. From what Mister Dippet had told her earlier in the day, he was also the cleverest student to have graduated from Hogwarts… _ever_. Envy churned in her stomach as she thought about the school. If it weren't for her heritage and the fact that she was a woman, she might have had a shot at attending. She'd heard of its prestige and had always wanted to learn as much as she could. It had only been after her relationship with Ron went public that she was able to finally get a tutor and learn more about the Wizarding world and about how to wield a wand.

Merlin, her _wand_.

The amount of power she felt when just holding hers was inexplicable. She felt accomplished, smart, and most importantly, _not_ inferior, when she learned different spells, no matter how small. Everyone had initially been surprised at her aptitude for learning, for debating, for _remembering_. Her memory was excellent and her magic was strong. She hadn't yet found a spell that was even marginally difficult or time-consuming for her to learn. It all came easily… _naturally_. That had been when she'd started helping the Order. As she became closer to Ron, she learned more about their happenings and their problems and helped as much as she could. She knew from experience that other Muggleborns deserved a chance to learn and to excel, and she wanted to give them that opportunity.

"Are you ready?" he asked, a tinge of amusement in his voice as he raised an eyebrow.

She blushed when she realized she'd been staring.

"Um…" she paused a bit awkwardly, checking to make sure she had everything, "Yes… yes… Gin? Are you ready as well?"

She turned to see the redhead smoothing the wrinkles on her dress and nodding before flashing them a smile.

"Let's go."

* * *

Sitting in a chair and looking nice had been easy for the first hour. However, four hours later, Hermione was dying of boredom. Perhaps the worst part had been the looks she'd been receiving. Maybe, even worse than that, had been the fact that no one talked to her, save Ginny, nor did they seem to want to. On top of this, she was forced to watch other couples dance, and look so completely happy while they did, while Ron just wanted to sit and talk with his Ministry friends. Dancing had never been his strong suit. Hermione secretly believed he had a phobia of it. Although Harry hated dancing, even he would suck it up to appease Ginny. This, as well as many other things, hadn't bothered her for the first nine months of their engagement. It hadn't been until just a few months ago that she began to find these little things irritating. Perhaps they just needed to tie the knot already. The War began about seven months ago and, ever since then, they'd mutually decided to prolong the engagement until later, especially when taking into consideration the few attacks on Hermione's life. Everyone agreed that it would be easier to marry under peaceful circumstances. It was too stressful to get married now, in the middle of a war – in the middle of _the_ war.

Although all those things were part of the reason Hermione wanted the night to end as quickly as possible, none of them were as prominent as the main reason. Said reason was standing on the wall around fifteen feet behind her, looking immaculate in a black suit which made his alabaster skin stand out sharply. It hadn't been until two hours ago that she'd realized he'd been staring at her. Ever since then, she'd been wondering what the hell he'd found so interesting about her stare so blatantly. His eyes would flicker every once and awhile to the others in the ballroom, but in the end, they would find their way back to her. He was standing behind her, but she could just _tell_.

_Perhaps he's taking his job way too seriously_, she thought nervously.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to forget about the fact that he was watching her so closely. Merlin, was it _hot_ in here. Taking out a fan – which was stowed in a hidden pocket on her gown – she quickly began to cool herself.

"Warm?" asked an entirely too-familiar voice.

She turned slightly to see Riddle standing next to her, a smile on his face.

"A bit," she said quietly.

Without a word, he extended his hand. Her eyes flickered from the couples dancing on the floor to the hand.

"There are other places to sit if you're uncomfortable," he said lightly.

"I think I'm fine here," she replied, turning away to watch the dancing once more.

"Miss Granger," he insisted, "I wouldn't say this if I wasn't genuinely concerned about your wellbeing. You don't look well."

Hermione shrugged off his concern. She was fine.

"I said I'm–"

"I'd rather you _not_ faint on my first night as your bodyguard," Riddle interrupted, his tone changing abruptly, "Keeping you healthy and safe is my utmost priority, so stop acting like a stubborn child and _listen to me_."

Bristling at his rudeness, Hermione placed her fan down on the table slowly before glaring up at him. Perhaps his true nature _was_ one of arrogance and snobbery.

"I believe _I_ should be the one–"

"You're making a scene, Hermione."

The brunette turned at the sound of a new voice. Harry.

"Did you hear what he _just_ said?" her mouth dropped.

"Yes, and I agree with him. You're being belligerent," Harry replied, looking at her meaningfully. "Tom is right – you look pale." Turning to the dark-haired man beside him, Harry pointed towards a pair of doors. "Take her out to the veranda to get some air. We have full security here so no Grindelwald supporters will try anything. You'll be safe."

"Of course, Mr. Potter," murmured Tom gratefully, "Thank you for helping and understanding how…" he paused before smirking lightly, "_inflexible_ she can be."

Hermione gaped at the two men.

"Any time."

"But Harry–"

He just gave her a stern look before walking away.

"Well, Miss Granger, it seems you _will_ be following my orders," he remarked smugly.

"I'm following _Harry's_ orders, not yours," she hissed before getting up gracefully from her chair and walking towards the doors in a flurry of fabric.

Not looking back to see if he'd kept up with her, the brunette opened the double doors and instantly relaxed, sighing. The cool air seemed to be exactly what she needed to calm her down and clear her head. Now she could admit she had been a bit stubborn.

_But he didn't have to be so rude about it!_ She thought irritably.

Hearing the door open and close quietly, Hermione took in a deep breath and ignored him. She refused to be ordered around like a child – like a _slave_. Especially since he was her bodyguard. _She_ should be the one ordering _him_!

"Temper temper," he said quietly, amusement tinting his voice.

"Oh, like you weren't angry either," she shot back, her eyes still fixed firmly ahead of her, "I heard your tone of voice, Mister Bodyguard. You were getting quite worked up at my – as you so… _eloquently_ put it – _inflexibility_."

"Anyone would get quite enraged when dealing with someone as inflexible as you. I merely said you needed fresh air, which, _if I recall correctly_," he said sarcastically, "even Mr. Potter agreed you were in need of. You were the one who refused to listen, even though the suggestion was made in regards to your health, nothing else."

Hermione blushed a furious shade of crimson when she realized he was, indeed, correct. Not that she'd ever admit it, though. He was already arrogant enough.

"I can see you agree with me," he continued slyly. "It seems you've calmed down enough to act civilized."

Feeling even more blood rush to her face, Hermione bit her tongue. Before she knew it, he was standing next to her by the railing and silence formed between them.

"I always act civilized," she finally replied, having calmed down enough to respond.

He snorted.

"Ah yes," he countered smoothly, derision dripping from every word, "if in which case you mean throwing a fit before meeting me today and once again just now, then I agree. You are _very_ civilized."

Pursing her lips, she turned to glare at him. Riddle just smirked back, amused.

"If you want people to take you seriously, I'd suggest not losing your head over everything."

"Who said–"

"You were sitting alone, Miss Granger," he said lazily, "I'm not sure exactly how much time elapsed, but I'm assuming for the better part of four hours, you've barely spoken to anyone other than Miss Potter."

"It's because of–"

"Don't say it's because you're Muggle-born," he interrupted, turning to look at the sky again, "Most of those people support the Order's efforts. Try again."

"Are you suggesting," she started defiantly, "that my _personality_ is the reason no one talks to me?"

"Well, you are very forward for today's age and… _fiery_," he smirked again, turning to look at her. "Those coupled with your _sunny_ personality… I believe you frighten them."

"_Frighten_ them?" she spluttered, taken aback. "But… Well then," she hissed, catching his gaze, "Do I frighten _you_, Mister Bodyguard?"

"Not in the slightest," he replied smoothly, appraising her for a moment. His eyes flashed and before she knew it, he was leaning in towards her. Hermione's heart sped up as he paused just a few inches away from her ear. "But, I do believe _I_ frighten _you_. Perhaps… you could explain to me why?" he murmured, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at her face before pulling away.

Hermione stared straight in front of her, panic freezing her. How did he know? Had he known she'd been analyzing him this entire time? Regardless, he was wrong. He didn't frighten her… he made her _uncomfortable_, was all.

"Really?" he mused, leaning towards her once again as a smirk graced his face, "I make you _uncomfortable_?"

Her eyes flickered to his quickly, widening.

_How did he know?_

"I don't believe you realize you think out loud, Miss Granger," he said softly. "But anyway, is there a reason why?"

Her mind went blank as she stared into his dark eyes, unable to say anything. What was she going to say anyway? Oh, right… that he was–

Two loud raps on the door jolted her from her thoughts. Jumping backwards and blushing, the brunette looked away just in time to miss the look of complete aggravation on Tom's face.

"Hermione?" called out Ron, poking his head around the door, "Are you ready to leave?"

Nodding quickly, the girl in question walked swiftly towards her fiancé and into the ballroom, ignoring the pair of dark eyes burning a hole into her back.

* * *

**Oh my gosh. **The feedback for the first chapter was overwhelming and made me SO happy. Thank you so much for reviewing: _The Last Poison Apple, TomRiddleLover4Ever, Guest, jfang465, A Phosphorescent Glow, Flying Penguin, guest, Onesmartcookie78, Guest, rae1706, Marguex, mh21, sweet-tang-honney, Harlight, isabel, LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrL. _For those of you curious to find out more about everyone's back-story, don't worry. I'll explain more as we continue :) PS - I apologize for the way overdue update. Life gets in the way, unfortunately. On another note, there will be absolutely _NO fluffy Tom_ in this story. NEVER. EVER. WILL. I. WRITE. FLUFFY. TOM. He is evil and extremely manipulative and I will make sure to write him as such. Also, not everything will be as it seems. When in Hermione's POV, I will write only what she assumes/sees/thinks. Remember: it can be flawed.

Please do _**favorite/alert/review!**_

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	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Quick Note: I do not own anything from the wonderful world of Harry Potter by JK Rowling.

* * *

Hermione had begun to become a bit weary of Tom. Why did it matter what she thought of him? He seemed awfully – to the point of purposefully invading her private space – intent on knowing why he made her feel so uncomfortable. Not that it was any of his business. What one thought of another was none of that person's business – everyone should be free to think in the confines of their own mind. Thinking was safe, _protected_. No one could delve into another's mind and look through it.

Hermione flew through the spells she'd been taught and confirmed the fact that she'd never learned one that helped one raid the thoughts of another. Even if there was one, it was probably heavily regulated or outlawed.

However, she _still_ couldn't shake the thought that Tom had read her entirely _too_ easily.

_Snap out of it, Hermione!_

Shaking her head, slightly appalled at the direction her thoughts were progressing, the brunette pulled the covers of her bed closer and willed her mind to stop overanalyzing every little thing about the man. She was being much too paranoid. How could she possibly assume he had ulterior motives? The fact that Dumbledore hadn't objected should have been a positive sign to her – it meant he approved. Tom Riddle was not bad, he was just a beautiful, extremely egotistical and, from what she'd picked up from the party, short-tempered and demanding prick. _Nothing else_. He'd probably just wanted her to confirm the fact that she was attracted to him that night. Maybe he was in need of an ego boost or something else idiotic or pathetic. Besides, if he thought invading her personal space and nearly burning a hole through her with his eyes would get her to willingly claim he was handsome, he had another thing coming. He was a rude prat, and she was just working herself into a frenzy for Merlin knew what reason.

_Forget about the git and think about how lovely tomorrow will be._

Smiling subconsciously, Hermione closed her eyes. Tomorrow _would_ be lovely – her tutoring lessons would commence once more and she could debate and expand her mind again.

Not only was she excited for this, but also for the fact that her bodyguard would be present for it. All wariness aside, he held a wealth of knowledge. Perhaps he would mention something about his schooling at Hogwarts? She was dying with curiosity. Hermione wanted to know everything she could about the school. Maybe she could even debate with him? It would finally give her the chance to prove to him how intelligent she was – no, _it would give her the chance to put him in his place. _Thoroughly enjoying the idea of knocking his entirely too-large-for-a-bodyguard's ego down a few pegs, the brunette willed herself to sleep even more.

_Perhaps after winning a debate against him, he will learn some respect._

* * *

Walking into the sitting room, Hermione couldn't stop the involuntary smile that flashed across her face at the sight of her teacher. Minerva McGonagall – a trusted Order member and well-known tutor, especially when it came to Transfiguration – stood upon her entrance. The normally stern instructor had what seemed to be a ghost of a smile on her face as she observed Hermione enter.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," she said, nodding.

"The same to you as well, Professor," she replied, "It's delightful to be back."

McGonagall smiled slightly before her eyes flickered to the figure behind her.

"I trust this is your new bodyguard?" she asked, stepping away from the table and eyeing the man shrewdly.

Hermione wouldn't be lying if she said she'd begun to loathe Tom Riddle's existence. His demeanor this morning – completely unaffected and normal – had set her on edge. He was acting as though nothing had occurred between the two of them and it was downright disturbing. Riddle's act was so genuinely blasé that the brunette almost found herself wondering if she'd imagined it all…

"Tom Riddle, Madam," he replied charmingly, a handsome smile on his face as he grasped her hand and kissed it lightly.

Hermione ground her teeth together and fought to keep calm. She couldn't let him get to her like this. Was this what he wanted? To drive her bloody mad? He was utterly infuriating. How could someone be so unaffected, so nonchalant?

Fortunately for the soon-to-be bride, McGonagall merely nodded and sat back down, sorting out the parchment on the table.

The brunette stole a glance at Riddle to find his face blank – purposefully blank, she now realized – before receding into the corner of the room.

_He's probably shocked that someone other than myself isn't falling all over themselves for him_, she thought snidely, smirking at the thought before settling down in her chair and preparing herself for an excellent lesson.

* * *

Feeling extremely self-satisfied as Professor McGonagall praised her on her lovely debating skills, Hermione said her goodbyes before exiting the room, Riddle following closely behind.

Her heart rate increased when she realized they would be alone once again. Trying not to give away how nervous she was to be in his presence, Hermione worked on smoothing down the crinkles in her usual, everyday dress. Although the outfit required a corset, it was much thinner and comfier than what she found herself wearing when leaving the Weasley mansion, and she quite preferred this. The length was beneficial as well – it was long enough for her to get away with not wearing those dreadful shoes.

Thankfully, Riddle had said nothing this morning. She could only hope he'd continue to keep his mouth shut.

"Clothing isn't impossible to conjure."

And just like that, her hope was shattered.

"Pardon?"

"Clothing isn't impossible to conjure," he began slowly, "You two were discussing it in there, and I'm answering. It isn't impossible."

"Really?" she asked skeptically, turning to face him now.

This was a far cry from what Hermione had thought he'd talk about and her curiosity was piqued. Clothing _was_ impossible to conjure… wasn't it?

He raised an eyebrow.

"You doubt me?"

"N-No," she replied quickly, her eyes widening, "I just–"

"Oh please, Hermione," he rolled his eyes, "I believe I'm intelligent enough to know what doubt looks like–"

"I don't doubt it… _exactly_," she interrupted, slowing her pace until she was standing still. "But it's impossible to conjure clothes. Most people claim it's the lesser known 'sixth' law of Gamp's Five Laws of Elemental Transfiguration, the first being food, the second money, the third–"

"Yes, yes, I know Gamp's laws," he snapped impatiently, halting his stride as well to turn and face her.

"Merlin, I never said you didn't!" she retorted angrily, folding her arms across her chest, "I just said that conjuring clothing is nearly impossible–"

"Granger," he began in a patronizing tone, a smirk settling on his face as his eyes glittered. She bristled. He _knew_ she hated being spoken down to. "There's a reason there are only five laws, not six. If clothing were one of them, don't you think Gamp, himself, would have labeled it as one?"

"Stop talking to me like I'm a child," she said flatly, thoroughly hating the way he thought he was so much better than her.

"Then stop thinking and carrying on like one," he retorted before turning to continue down the hallway.

Biting her lip, Hermione watched him, in serious conflict with herself. Should she call him back to explain what he meant? The very idea made her cringe. It showed he quite obviously had the upper hand in this conversation and she loathed it, just as much as she loathed him. Despite her overwhelming desire to ignore him for as long as possible, her curiosity was igniting and spreading through her like a forest fire. She needed to know… _how was it possible_?

"Wait!" she called out, squashing the part of her that begged she keep her mouth shut and preserve her dignity. "Riddle!"

Hermione watched him pause before turning to look at her, his face blank.

"How… how do you know?" she asked, her eyes flickering to his.

"As long as you're extremely familiar with the article of clothing you want to conjure – the material, stitches, etcetera – it is possible," he replied casually. "I've done it before."

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. Temporarily forgetting her dislike of him, she walked closer to Tom, excitement rocketing through her.

"You_ have_?!" she asked curiously, "Could you… can you–"

"–show you?" he finished smoothly, raising an eyebrow. "After the way you nearly yelled at me for pointing out that, perhaps, you may _not_ be right all the time?"

Hermione soured immediately as her eyes grew fiery. She knew what he was trying to do, and she wouldn't let him do it. The slow smirk that found its way onto his face just fueled her anger and she flushed. It made him look even more attractive than usual, but considering the circumstances and his horrid personality, the brunette couldn't believe she _still_ found the git handsome. Just as she opened her mouth to yell at him, another voice cut in.

"Hermione! There you are!"

Turning quickly, the brunette caught sight of Harry walking rapidly towards the two.

"Class ended awhile ago and we've been looking everywhere for you," he said, coming to a stop near her. Giving Tom a quick nod – which the prat returned – the raven-haired man turned back to Hermione, a questioning look on his face.

"My apologies, Mr. Potter," cut in Riddle silkily before she could explain herself. She turned to look at him to see his eyes cast downwards and his hands behind his back. It was almost as though he were… repentant? The look was oddly reminiscent of a child having just been reprimanded; however, Hermione doubted he'd ever been reprimanded as a child at all. In fact, she had a feeling everyone fawned over him, no doubt…

Harry turned to look at Tom, surprise flashing through his eyes.

"It was my fault entirely," he continued, "I had kept Miss Granger back because of an educational discussion we were having. It won't happen again."

Hermione stared at him, somewhat perplexed. Turning to look at Harry, she caught sight of him nodding.

"No, don't worry yourself. It's quite alright. If she's with you, we know she'll be safe, Mr. Riddle," he replied, "We just needed to find her quickly…" Harry trailed off to give her a significant look.

Catching on rapidly, Hermione nodded.

"No problem at all," Tom said easily, a small smile on his face, "I'll retreat to my quarters. Thank you for understanding, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded once more before turning to Hermione, who was trying hard to understand what Riddle was playing at, and escorting her down the hall.

* * *

As soon as the pair rounded the corner, Tom relaxed, scowling deeply. Merlin, they were both annoying… Potter more so. He despised acting perfectly polite to the man. It was humiliating and undignified, especially for someone hailing from Salazar Slytherin's bloodline. Hermione, on the other hand… was something else entirely. He found her a mixture of annoying and amusing – she was so quick to defend herself and stand up for what she believed in… it was very unlike what he was so accustomed to seeing in women. On that note, her intelligence was something he was not prepared for either. The Mudblood was smart… _extremely_ smart. Perhaps she _was_ useful… Now the reason why the Order needed her so highly guarded finally made itself apparent to him – she was clever… so much cleverer than most of them. Nonetheless, she was just a means to an end. An amusing one, one he could easily toy with and manipulate, of course, which made this all the more fun.

Everything he said or did flustered or angered her. It was enjoyable to watch, but was also nagging at him.

She didn't like him or trust him. She'd made that abundantly clear. However, he couldn't have her digging her nose into his business otherwise that would cause extreme complications. He'd have to start monitoring her then, and he didn't have the time to do that. No no no… he needed to come up with some other way to get her to trust him, he just wasn't sure what…

Turning to look over his back at the empty hall, Tom pondered for a moment whether to follow them or not. Realizing a second later that doing so would be fruitless considering the countless amount of charms they'd have placed upon the room before the _obvious_ Order meeting commenced, he continued on to his quarters.

He had plans to cement.

* * *

"What is this Order meeting about, Harry?" asked Hermione in a hushed tone. The two were quickly making their way through the Weasley Mansion to a small, secluded sitting room – one that they used only for Order-related activities.

He shook his head slightly as they continued to the room.

"Not here," he muttered, his eyes darting from side to side.

"Have we been compromised?!" she breathed, her eyes widening as she took in his paranoid state.

"Of course not," he countered, catching her eye as they neared the sitting room, "I'm simply taking precautions, Hermione."

She nodded, sighing with relief as he opened the doors. Upon entering, an immediate hush fell over the room. Walking quickly over to the seat next to Ginny – who was also allowed to attend the meetings – as Harry closed, locked, and spelled the doors, Hermione gave her fellow Order members a quick nod.

"Go on, Severus," said Dumbledore once Harry was seated.

"Seeing as you and Mr. Potter were late – no surprises there, of course –" Snape added snidely, causing Harry to flush and narrow his eyes, "I will repeat myself. We are in grave trouble. I would elaborate, but unfortunately, the person behind all this has placed myself, as well as many others, under the Vow. Therefore, I am not able to divulge any other details. The conditions of the Vow were very precise, calculated, and covered any and all loopholes we could have tried to discover to allow me to elaborate."

Hermione felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach at the news. No matter how much she disliked him, Snape had been a valuable asset to the Order. In fact, he was one of their biggest strengths considering he was spying on Grindelwald and providing them with monumental information about his plans.

"What makes you think we should trust that what you say is true?" growled Harry, who was glaring angrily at the man, "You–"

"Harry," interrupted Dumbledore gently, "Listen to him."

Crossing his arms, he simply glowered at Snape.

"I cannot tell you anything related at all to this Vow," began the Hogwart's Potion's master grimly, "except that we all need to be extra vigilant–"

"What about names?" interrupted Harry, his eyes still filled with dislike as he regarded the professor, "Can you tell us anyone–"

"Are you deaf, Potter?" asked Snape coldly, his black eyes glinting, "Don't you believe I would have already said all I could if I had that liberty?"

"Don't you _dare_ raise your tone of voice at my godson, Snivellus," cut in a low, dangerous voice, "Learn to show some respect–"

"I will when you do," hissed Snape, rising from his chair with a nasty snarl on his face. Sirius countered the movement by standing as well.

"Perhaps when you finally learn to wash that oily–"

"Enough!" called out Dumbledore in a stern voice, his sharp eyes flickering between the two bickering men. "_Sit down_, both of you."

Most of the Order members were staring at the table, waiting for the fighting to end. Snape and Harry had never gotten off to a wonderful start. After the death of Harry's parents at the hands of Pureblood supporters when he was just a baby, Snape had blamed him for it. The animosity between the two had been there ever since Harry was young, and Sirius's presence had only exacerbated it. He had immediately taken custody of Harry after all was said and done and raised him as his own son. The two lived in the old Black family mansion and frequently visited the Weasleys. He and Ron had become close friends immediately and had later accepted Hermione into their close friendship as well. Ever curious as to why Snape hated him, it wasn't until recently that Harry found out the truth. Snape had been in love with his mother, Lily Potter, for years. Hermione and Ron had both been present when he found out and had been just as shocked as he. Harry had felt not only disgust but _hatred_ for the man. And ever since then, tensions between the two had been at an all-time high. Realizing that Snape hated him only because Lily had died saving him had made Harry's blood boil. Hermione didn't blame him.

The brunette glanced around at her fellow Order members before looking at Dumbledore. The wizard was deep in thought.

"Does this mean that… that you cannot provide us with any more information about Grindelwald… _at all_?" she hedged.

The professor turned his black gaze towards her. In that moment, he looked tired and worn – the face of someone who'd been restless and awake, haunted by his thoughts for far too long.

"I'm afraid you are all on your own."

A thrill of panic shot through Hermione at his words. Although their numbers were small – seeing as most Muggle-borns and Halfbloods refused to play a part in their cause for fear of repercussion – they had counted on having the upper hand. But now that Snape could no longer say anything…

"_Us_?" echoed Lupin, an eyebrow raised, "What about _you_, Snape?"

"He will do what he can on his own, correct?" interjected Dumbledore, his penetrating gaze landing on the oily-haired man who nodded.

"Why not just tell us, Snivellus?" goaded Sirius maliciously, "I'm sure no one would care either way if you died."

"Don't give me the _honor_ of hexing you, Black," spat Snape, his black eyes flashing, "It's obvious who the winner would be if we dueled…"

"Good to know you admit your defeat then, Snape," growled Sirius, drawing his wand.

Instantly Harry drew his as well – Ron, too – and Hermione jumped from her seat.

Soundlessly expelling Harry and Sirius's wands with her own, she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Could we act _civilized_, maybe?" she yelled hotly. At Ginny's harsh glare, Ron immediately shrunk in his seat and pocketed his wand. "You are all behaving like children. The information that Professor Snape just provided us with is monumental – I will _not_ allow you three to bring us off-topic. We must discuss this like the adults we are. Sit down, all of you!"

Taking their seats rather quickly – Hermione had always possessed a voice that was shrill enough to raise the dead, if the need ever arose for it – the three quieted immediately.

"_Thank you_," she huffed before sitting as well. "We need a plan of action right now… any thoughts, Sir?" the brunette turned immediately to Dumbledore, who had been watching the heated exchange with amusement.

"Oh, I quite think _you_ may have a few ideas of your own, Miss Granger," he replied with a genial smile. "I'd like to hear what you have to say."

Blushing slightly, she nodded.

"Alright… well…" she began, addressing all of the members, "since Professor Snape is the one out of all of us with the most knowledge of Grindelwald's plans, it is obvious what has to be done. He will oversee any planning and advise us. Just because we are unable to get any direct information about anything regarding Grindelwald, this does not mean that we can't still formulate plans with his guidance, no matter how limited."

"But Hermione," interjected Arthur Weasley calmly, "These plans… they won't be–"

"I know," she sighed, closing her eyes, "It will all be very… shaky for us. This will be uncharted territory… but we have no other choice. What do you think, Sir?"

Dumbledore nodded, his blue eyes distant.

"Exactly what I would have said, Miss Granger."

* * *

"Are you bloody mental, Hermione?" burst out Ron as soon as they were far enough away not to be heard by the others. "Snape, _Snape_?! You took _Snape's_ side over ours!"

"Ron, let it go," muttered Harry.

"I was taking no one's side, Ronald," shot back Hermione fiercely, "You were all acting like children, Snape included! I cannot believe I have to moderate your behavior–"

"No one gives a damn about our behavior right now, Hermione!" yelled the redhead with anger. Taking a few steps closer to her, he said, "You don't realize what you've just done!"

"_Dumbledore_ has agreed, Ron," she said flatly, her hand unconsciously tightening around her wand. "Obviously, I did what was best–"

"What was _best_? Snape isn't even loyal! You'll see, you and Dumbledore will all see when he leaves us and betrays us–"

"_Ron_."

"Snape will _not_ betray us, Ron," hissed the brunette, "It's not like _I_ did this! You're accusing me as though this is my fault and it's not! Get your head out of your arse! Dumbledore, himself, said he would have come to the same conclusion–"

"Fucking stupid conclusion–"

"It is _not_–"

"Yes, and you want to know why? Because you're a _woman_, Hermione. And we all know women–"

Betrayal and fury shot through the brunette at that moment. Tears flooded her eyes as her hand came up and found his cheek with a resounding _slap_.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she whispered, forcing her tears backwards. Never… _never_ had Ron said something so cruel and misogynistic.

He was looking at her with a mixture of surprise and anger. As his hand reached up to softly touch the red mark on his cheek, remorse flitted over his features and he moved to touch her. Sliding out of his grip with ease, the brunette glared venomously at him.

"Hermione," he breathed, looking stricken, "You know I don't–"

"You know what, Ron?" she began in a weary voice, her eyes cold, "If I have such _horrible_ ideas, just remember… marrying you was one of them." Turning to look at Harry, who was watching the confrontation with a grimace, she just shook her head. "You'll always support him, won't you?" she asked bitterly.

"Hermione, you know I can't… I refuse to come into the middle of this–"

"Even when you know he's wrong and I'm right?" she shot back.

Harry just released a tired sigh.

"Do you need me to come–"

"I can find my way to my bedroom well enough, thank you," she replied curtly, "Good night."

"Hermione, please," stepped in Ron pleadingly, "You can't go without dinner–"

"When my people are starving and leading miserable lives every day just because they were born to non-magical parents, yes… yes I believe I can," she replied coolly, giving them both one last glare before storming away.

* * *

**Eep! Sorry for the WAY overdue update!** *flees from angry glares and thrown vegetables* I hope this chapter made up for it though? A big hug to everyone who reviewed: _Bnick, werevampluvr, dante (x2), 23Nelly, Marguex, LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrL, StalkingMalfoy, Donjuanjd, phillyfire253, Onesmartcookie78, Smithback, jfang465, GryffLion13, Zeehana, iceflight12787_. You are all lovely people :)

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_**Twitter: mnadzz**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Quick Note: I do not own anything from the wonderful world of Harry Potter by JK Rowling.

* * *

Ron had continued to apologize for what he'd said that night, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to forgive him. She'd known he was a bit misogynistic from the get-go, but not as much as other men. Ginny and his mother, Molly Weasley, had always been quite passionate and fiery like Hermione, herself. Because of this, she'd always thought Ron had been raised a bit differently – in a more accepting way, she supposed.

Boy, had she been wrong. It seemed he'd just been repressing his anti-feminist ideas and it made her blood boil. He knew the way she operated – they'd known each other for years. How _dare_ he just–

Taking a deep breath, Hermione cooled herself down. It had been three days and she was still entirely too worked up about it. The situation had been like a slap to her face and because of it, she was now questioning whether marrying Ron was the best idea. She loved him, but just how much of this would she be able to take? It would no doubt get worse after their nuptials.

Although Hermione didn't want to think about it, she was also worried about her own well-being if she did, indeed, call off the engagement. Would they kick her out? Surely Molly would allow her to stay. However, despite the fact that she had always treated Hermione as her own, she'd had her moments. A Pureblood by the name of Viktor Krum had visited once – Ron had insisted he reside in their manor, seeing as the wizard was a huge international Quidditch star for the Bulgarian team. It had been about four years ago – when Hermione was fourteen. The famous seeker had immediately taken an interest in her – for what reason, no one really knew – and Molly had begun to act cold. She and Ron had become very close in their fourth year – so close that the redhead almost started courting her. Krum's presence had disturbed that and had ruined their relationship for awhile. It had taken a few months for the Weasley matriarch to forgive her. Hermione never thought there was anything for her to be angry for in the first place. She'd rejected Krum's affections quickly, hadn't she? Not only that, but Molly had also believed she'd had a semblance of a relationship with Harry, regardless of how absurd that sounded. They were merely brother and sister, albeit from different families. The bottom line was that Ron's mother definitely knew how to hold a grudge when it came to her sons and Ginny. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that she would hold one again if she dropped her engagement with Ron.

"May I ask why you look so infuriated, Miss Granger?" cut in a smooth voice.

The man seated next to her was even more aggravating, to say the least.

"As if you care," she retorted, surveying the dancing couples with contempt.

Once again, she was forced to attend a ministry ball, and like always, Ron had disappeared to avoid dancing with her.

"Let me guess," Tom began in a bored tone, "Mr. Weasley is bothering you?"

"Firstly," she began, turning to glare at him, "don't pretend like you respect Ron. I know you dislike him. Secondly, what business is it of yours to ask about my private life? He's my fiancé and you are my _bodyguard_, not my friend or confidant."

"Once again, Miss Granger, you fail miserably when it comes to being polite."

"On the contrary," she rebutted, "I excel. It's only with you that I seem to have an issue."

"And I wonder why that is…" he pondered softly.

There was a moment of silence.

"How did you find out, anyway?" she asked, curiosity flashing through her eyes.

"I overheard Mr. Potter talking about it to Miss Ginevra. Would you care to elaborate?"

"Certainly not to you."

"Well," he began, amusement in his voice, "if not me, who else then? Surely Mr. Potter has taken Mr. Weasley's side and Miss Ginevra _is_ his sister…"

"Are you suggesting I have no one else with which I can speak to?" she hissed, turning to glower at him, "Because if so, you're highly mistaken, Mr. Riddle."

"Of course not," he replied silkily, a smirk curling his lips, "You may have people, such as Mr. Lupin's wife, Nymphadora, or Mr. Longbottom's fiancé, Luna, with whom you can confide, but that doesn't necessarily mean you _will_."

"And why not?"

"Because," his dark eyes locked with hers, "I know you don't like talking to people about your problems. You'd rather handle them yourself because you feel you possess the capability to."

Her mouth parted in surprise at his accuracy.

"You could also refuse because you want to prove to others that a woman does not need the help of a man to accomplish something. Am I right?" he added, an eyebrow arched as if daring her to deny the truth behind his words.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Hermione grumbled, "Yes."

Although she still disliked the man, her respect for him increased. He was the definition of perceptive and intelligent. The worst part was that he was both of those things – and more – all in one handsome package. It was truly unfair.

_But he's also rude, arrogant, and egotistical!_

"But that isn't a weakness," she continued in a stronger voice, her fiery eyes finding his. "Who cares if I want to prove myself? I _deserve_ to prove myself! My gender isn't filled with vapid, idiotic morons. We're repressed by society. We've been led to believe that displaying even an _ounce_ of intelligence or interest in a topic reserved for 'males' is wrong. That sort of close-minded thinking will not only hurt women in the long run, but will also hurt us as a populous. We _need_ to break down the barriers between the two genders and become one – that's the _only_ way we will be able to evolve as a society and become even more advanced than we already are!"

Hermione's chest was heaving by the end of her speech. Half-yelling out her ideas in one fast string of words may not have been the best idea. A bit lightheaded now, she sucked in air and composed herself.

Tom was eyeing her almost hungrily, his lips curled upwards in a smirk.

"Oh really?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she ground out in an impatient tone.

"I'd have to disagree with you, Hermione."

"Then you're a misogynistic prat who values himself above all others. Your arrogance and large ego, as well as out-dated ideas about women, is _highly_ unattractive and rude–"

"Then what would you consider attractive traits for me?" he asked in a sly tone, his eyes glittering.

Hermione swallowed hard, her mouth going dry for a moment when she realized what she'd done.

"Nothing is attractive about you at all. I simply said that those traits of yours make you _highly_ unattractive. The rest make you your normally unattractive self," she finally responded in a matter-of-fact tone. Looking away, she began counting the number of dancers on the floor – _anything_ to keep her mind off the fact that she embarrassed herself so thoroughly in front of him.

_Five, six, seven, eight…_

"Most women are boring, annoying, gossip-mongers who would prefer to talk about clothing and hair rather than anything remotely important. And you choose to fight for them?" he questioned, a curious expression on his face.

"There are always people within each gender that don't necessarily portray the group as a whole in a positive way. However, there are exceptions," she declared, relieved when he didn't pursue the subject of attraction any longer. "By repressing women, men aren't giving them a chance to break out of the mould and become something–"

"I've traveled to many places," Tom interrupted, turning away from her to glance at the rest of the ballroom, "I graduated from Hogwarts four years ago and spent my time afterwards exploring Europe… I have never in those four years met any woman as intelligent as a man… the only exception being you. However, there are exceptions to every rule, and that doesn't necessarily mean the rule should be changed because of the very rare exception."

Hermione frowned.

"That is _not_ true," she shot back, "The rule should be changed – or eradicated _completely_ – if it bottles a group of people who could become like the rare exception, or perhaps even better."

"Why take the chance?" he replied lazily, "It could cause complete chaos if those that were bottled take free rein without proper knowledge of what they're doing. The system as a whole could shift in a bad direction or collapse."

"That's wishful thinking from someone who is thoroughly against it and so close-minded he can barely see ahead of him," she snapped. "It could potentially be the best thing for the system. Either way, humans are not 'things' that can be toyed with or suppressed. Either way, be it now or later, the rule will change. I'm just hoping to speed up the process."

"I doubt _that_ will ever happen," he snorted. Oddly, the noise seemed more dignified coming from him. "Especially when the system itself does not support the eradication of the rule – and that includes those supposedly 'repressed' by it."

"Eliminating it could be the _best thing for the system_!" she spat.

"Or the worst," he replied coldly. He looked completely unaffected by the conversation and it frustrated her. His points were solid – although, not valid enough for this particular argument – but he didn't seem nearly as involved in the conversation as she.

"How old are you?" she demanded, moving back in her seat – she hadn't even realized she'd been leaning towards him – and appearing noticeably irritable, "Twenty-one?"

"Perhaps."

"And you graduated Hogwarts when you were seventeen?"

"It's a possibility."

She ignored his purposefully vague, infuriating answers.

"How are you still in contact with the Headmaster?"

Tom sat back in his seat – Hermione realized with a jolt that he'd been leaning in towards her as well – and eyed her.

"I am his favorite student."

She stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. When he just stared back, she huffed and looked away. Apparently his past was not on the list of acceptable conversation topics.

"Is that why he told you about this job?"

"Yes… among other things."

"_Such as_?" she emphasized, annoyed.

"I told you," he frowned, confused, "I was traveling through Europe."

"Don't play stupid with me, Tom," she snapped, her fury igniting. "I'm not daft."

His lips just curved into a smirk as he raised an eyebrow, as if challenging her.

"Why don't you try using that _big brain_ of yours, Hermione?" he mocked, sitting forward in his seat as his eyes flashed with amusement. "Let's see if you can figure it out for yourself."

Her lips pressed together as she fought back a slew of profanities.

"You were a model student–"

"Obviously."

She shot him a heated glare.

"–and, due to the obvious affinity for nepotism that Headmaster Dippet possesses, I'm also going to assume that you had many job offers. Since you traversed Europe, you must have turned them down for an unknown reason. Perhaps Dippet thought this would be another possible job you would excel in?"

"Not quite," he said shortly. His face turned blank and it was obvious by his tone of voice that he didn't want her to pursue the topic further.

_How horrible for him_, Hermione thought slyly, _I don't believe he realizes I'm only going to do the complete opposite…_

Either she had hit the mark or she was close and her deduction was bothering him. She would bet her wand that it was the latter.

"Dredging up bad memories, am I?" she could barely contain the triumph in her voice.

"Hardly," he returned in a deprecating manner. "Your pathetic assumptions are embarrassing to hear."

"I apologize for hitting such a sore spot, Tom. Anyway, moving on," she smirked, "From your behavior, I'd like to think that the actual events that occurred after your graduation were… bothersome? Either way, you weren't happy with the results. Oh!" Hermione's smirk widened into a smile and she glanced over at him. He was staring at her, looking utterly bored. That didn't fool her, though. His muscles were tensed. "Perhaps you weren't offered the job you truly wanted. Maybe you applied for one but you were turned down–"

"It doesn't matter, now does it?" he very nearly hissed. His eyes were cold as they watched her with thinly veiled contempt. She flinched. "Either way, I'm here, aren't I?"

Rolling her eyes to hide her surprise – and slight _fear_ – at his outburst, Hermione sat back in her seat.

"Yes, to my utter _disdain_."

* * *

"Hermione, we need to talk. _Please_."

The brunette was acutely aware of Tom's suddenly pricked ears, regardless of the fact that he was walking behind the two.

"Not now, Ron," she muttered, "I'm tired."

"Then I'll make it quick." He turned towards her, his ocean-blue eyes staring into hers pleadingly.

He was doing it on purpose. Ron didn't want her to make a scene and probably thought that by broaching the subject in front of Riddle, she would be more inclined to listen to him. Taking a deep breath, she just gave him a curt nod. She couldn't deny him right now – she didn't have the energy.

Glancing backwards, she saw Tom watching them both with an almost smug expression on his face. Her hands itched to slap it off. Turning her attention back to Ron, she made it her mission to ignore Riddle as much as possible.

"I didn't mean what I said to you, Hermione," he began gently. The redhead moved closer to her and slowly slid his hand around hers. The warmth would have been comforting in any other situation, but seeing as they were being watched, she couldn't bring herself to appreciate the gesture. "It just came out in a fit of anger. You know how much I hate Snape. I was just angry–"

"Don't worry about it, Ron," she interrupted, desperately wanting to end the conversation as soon as possible. "I…" she swallowed hard, "I understand." The words sounded bitter, but he didn't seem to notice. A brilliant smile lit his face, and she returned it weakly before he gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.

"Mr. Riddle?" he called, turning to look at the man. "Escort her safely the rest of the way to her quarters. I have a few things to attend to."

"Of course, Mr. Weasley," replied Tom, a genial smile on his face. His eyes flickered to Hermione's, glinting. "I'll take care of her."

The brunette ignored the odd feeling that bloomed inside her at his words – was it just her or did they sound ominous?

_Dumbledore approves. Dumbledore approves_, she thought, chanting the words in her mind like a mantra, _There's nothing to be suspicious about!_

"Anything important?" her eyes flashed to Ron's meaningfully. "If it is, then I can–"

"Get some rest, Hermione," he smiled lovingly at her. "It's not _that_ important. Believe me. Otherwise I would definitely bring you along. Goodnight."

She shot him a half-hearted smile as he left them together.

_Alone._

Tom wasted no time.

"Self-preservation, Hermione?" he asked softly. "I never thought you'd possess such an undoubtedly… _Slytherin_ trait."

"Don't compare me to that House," she snapped, shooting him a glare before proceeding to her room. "I've read enough about Hogwarts to know that Slytherin houses cruel, bigoted Purebloods."

Although she was walking quickly with the sole intent of leaving him behind, he easily caught up with her.

"So you won't deny it, then?" he questioned.

"Why should I?" she shot back, her eyes flickering to his, "Your opinion on this subject is unimportant to me."

Tom arched an eyebrow.

"You're staying with Weasley so his mother doesn't throw you out, correct?"

Hermione's eyes widened.

He smirked before letting out a wry laugh, "Ha! I knew it."

"You know _nothing_!" she hissed, "And that is not the truth! I love Ron. Whatever you're insinuating–"

"I'm merely making an educated assumption, Hermione," he said calmly, turning to watch her. His stare was once again reminiscent of Dumbledore, and the brunette looked away immediately in response. Her hands clenched as she tensed. The conversation was heading in the direction of her personal life and she longed to stop it – longed to just have him leave her alone. Tom's idea of fun was obviously embarrassing her through any means possible. She hated it. "You looked quite uncomfortable not too long ago–"

"Because Ron does not understand what should and shouldn't be spoken of in the presence of others," she responded in a determined manner. "Not that any of this is your business at all, Tom."

"I find it is my business. After all, I am your bodyguard."

Relief spread through Hermione's veins when the door to her room came into view. That had to have been the longest walk she'd ever experienced. Tom refused to back down. His curiosity in everything she did was overwhelming, annoying, and a little troubling. Why was he so interested? It was obvious that he felt no romantic attachment to her at all – his mocking, degrading, and many times _cold_ demeanor towards her was proof of that… but yet he continued to persist…

"Not when it comes to my personal matters," she replied curtly. Not sparing him a second glance, she grasped her doorknob and turned it. Before he could get another word in edgewise, she promptly slammed the door in his face. Suddenly feeling unsafe, she cast a few nonverbal locking charms. Her heart was racing now as she vividly recalled the undoubtedly cruel way with which he had lashed out at her during the ministry ball. Once again, distrust and growing fear began to claw its way through her body. She didn't trust him. She didn't trust him _at all_, and he was her bodyguard, for Merlin's sake! There was something off about Tom Riddle. He was hiding something. His charms worked on everyone else, and she refused to allow them to blindside her. He was entirely too interested in her life and she resolved to find out why.

A knock on the door startled her and her hand flew to her mouth as she resisted the urge to gasp in shock. His velvety voice called through the door.

"No 'goodnight', Hermione?"

She could practically see the sarcastic tone in his voice. Composing herself and ensuring her voice wouldn't waver, she replied scathingly.

"_Go to bed_."

"Polite as ever," he called out once more.

Listening intently, she registered that he was still standing outside her door. His footsteps had not yet retreated. Many seconds passed before she finally heard him depart. Releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, the brunette whispered another locking charm on her door before stripping off her clothing quickly and snuggling into her bed. Resolving not to think about him right now, for she was sure she would lose sleep if she did, she curled up under the covers and cleared her mind. Despite that, the nagging feeling that she was missing something never really went away. Allowing sleep to claim her for its own once again, she fell into a fitful slumber.

* * *

**Faster update! Yay! **I'm sorry that I have such an affinity for cliffhangers xD On another note, thanks so much to the amazing people who reviewed:_ freebird4, The Last Poison Apple, Slytherin of the Sea, Atlantean Diva x2, Missy Melinda, serpentslions, LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrL, smithback, sheddingeverycolor, RedtailHawk19, jfang465, Onesmartcookie78, TheLightningScar, Iceflight1278, WordsLikeWind. _You guys are so amazing. There are no words.

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